


Toy soldiers marching

by MariaPurt



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, What-If, serquel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPurt/pseuds/MariaPurt
Summary: First heist. Right before his car crash, Angel texts Raquel the truth about Professor's identity.
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 84
Kudos: 223





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you and a ton of hugs go to KarenDeidre for her critical remarks on every chapter I write and her neverending moral support when it's needed!

“Is everything alright, Raquel?”

“Uh-huh,” she moos absentmindedly, staring at her phone. 

If Angel aims to ruin her evening, he might want to come up with something better than this. This is ridiculous. Angel is ridiculous. _Asshole_. He just doesn’t know when to stop, does he.

“Raquel, is everything alright?”

She understands how she must look to Salva right now, but she can’t do anything about it. Her mind is stuck with the damn text. Raquel reads it again; blinks, as if that will make it make sense.

“Hey…” the voice comes again, closer this time, almost next to her ear. A mix of worry and sweet tenderness, the sound is so soft she wants to forget all about Angel and his stupid text and just lean back into Salva’s embrace. As if he reads her thoughts, his arms rest on her bare shoulders, thumbs under the straps of her top.

Raquel shivers. These hands made her feel so good just minutes ago, but now… Now Angel’s text has thrown her off, and she balances between wanting to put her hands on top of Salva’s and wanting to move away from him. Deep down she’s scared she might be wrong about him. She can’t believe Angel, as much of a jerk as he’s been lately, would throw accusations like these over simple jealousy.

(But then he did, he threw them just like that when he claimed Salva’s place to be some spooky dirty warehouse which it obviously isn’t).

“Sorry, I’m… I just…” she stutters, quickly putting the phone away.

Salva shouldn’t see the screen.

“Your face changed the moment you checked your phone. Is your daughter _alright_?” he whispers.

 _Is this alright?_ Raquel remembers him ask no more than an hour ago as he was pulling at her hair slightly, his fingers inside her. Same voice, same intonations.

_Same Salva._

_Is this alright? His palm on her bra, his beard on her chin, fingernails making their way up her thigh as he holds her on top of him. Her body arched above his - his lips on her nipple, his eyes locked on her face expecting an answer._

She looks at him briefly, then turns away, hiding an all too obvious mixture of confusion and embarrassment (and also regret and fear, and disbelief) on her face.

If Angel is right, she can’t show any change to Salva. She shouldn’t scare him off. (And if he’s wrong, she’ll want to kill him for this extremely cold emotional shower he’s just given her).

She swallows, putting a smile onto her face. Corners of her mouth tremble.

“Yes. Yes, she’s alright, thank you…”

She doesn’t sound too reassuring. His hand slides down, following her arm, and pulls it up to his face. He kisses her palm. Raquel squeezes her phone even tighter with her other hand, Angel’s text on replay in her head.

_Salva is our guy. His fingerprints in the police car._

It is so damn short and so condemning. Has she been dumb and blind? Has she missed the signs? Were there any? She looks at Salva again. He seems genuinely delighted. Whether it’s because they’ve just spent a really good time together or because he thinks he's got her – Raquel doesn’t know. This is frustrating.

And just as she’s about to dismiss this whole thing and claim it on Angel’s attempt to clear his own name, Raquel stops herself. What if her partner is right? She’s been wrong about men before and she paid a high price for that with her ex-husband. After all, Angel isn’t wrong: Salva did appear out of nowhere on the very day the robbery began. Has he planted a bug on her somehow? Is that why the robbers are always a step ahead of the police?

Her hand itches to grab the purse and empty its contents onto the desk. If there’s a microphone, she’ll know for sure. But so will Salva. And if he is who Angels claims him to be, he’ll run. She’ll lose him.

She smiles at Salva. He’s watching her silently, waiting for some sort of explanation. His hands massage her shoulders to help her ease the tension. He is too good to be true, though, isn’t he?

She almost reaches out for her purse. There’s a gun there, she can pull it out before Salva understands what is happening. She can arrest him now and figure things out later.

She stops her hand half way, looks down at her bare legs and her underwear that screams how its owner was not planning to get undressed in front of someone tonight.

Led by Angel’s accusations, she’s already pulled a gun on Salva and made a fool of herself. One time is enough for an evening. She has no proof. Arresting a man she’s just slept with, while having nothing but underwear on her, is going to be even more embarrassing. Especially if Angel is just being a dick and has made this whole thing up (but there are over a dozen voicemails from him, and that really worries Raquel – problem is, she can’t listen to them until she is safely out of Salva’s… whatever this place is).

“I should go,” she states quickly, swaying out of his embrace.

“Y-yes, of course,” he nods, raises hands and fixes glasses – gesture so cute she stops and just looks at him for a moment before proceeding.

“Thank you for… For everything. It was nice…”

Shit. Is this the best she can do? Raquel winces as soon as she turns away from him. She instinctively fixes the waistband on her panties, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then wipes her nose even though it’s dry.

When was the last time she felt so awkward having no clothes on in someone’s presence? Raquel can’t remember. It certainly wasn’t an issue a few minutes ago.

Damn you, Angel.

Damn you, Alberto. 

_Yes, Alberto,_ her mind clings onto the name of her ex-husband, blaming him for her prolonged celibate. Had their divorce (or better yet, their marriage) not been so painful, she’d probably not fall for a guy she had met in a bar after a tiresome work night. She’d have gotten someone awhile before Salva came along.

Except, she genuinely likes Salva. He’s sweet. Perhaps, a bit too shy for her taste, but that is such a refreshing contrast to what she’s had for several years straight. He’s so different from her shit of an ex-husband. He isn’t charming in a traditional way, and that is exactly what makes her feel good around him. He makes her feel unthreatened. He makes her feel safe. How can he be the Professor, an arrogant guy who pushes her buttons and tries to provoke her every step of the way?

Raquel searches for her clothes, rushes to pick up her skirt, puts it on backwards. Damn. Her fingers don’t obey her.

A deep breath helps, but not nearly enough. She doesn’t let the phone out of her hand, dials Angel’s number. He better (not?) be making this shit up just to get back at her. Knowing him as long as she does, this is a possibility.

Not that she thinks he would actually stoop that low.

But he _can_ be mistaken. This better be it.

Salva follows her hectic movements with his eyes, keeps saying something reassuring, but Raquel feels even more uncomfortable picking up her jacket several meters from the sofa they’ve just made love on.

 _Sex. They had sex_ , her mind points out, ready to protect her from getting hurt. Problem is, it’s too late.

“Did I do something?” he asks with a hint of confusion.

Of course he does. Raquel stops, one shoe in her hand, and rolls her eyes.

Angel isn’t picking up. Bastard. He can’t just drop an accusation like this and then turn off his phone and sleep. How dares he.

Raquel clears her throat and smiles, this time more genuinely.

“No,” she stops him before he can speak again. “Something came up, I need to go, really…”

Salva nods, but still comes closer.

“I wasn’t planning this.”

Raquel lifts her eye brow, amused.

“Do you plan everything?”

“Yes,” he laughs with a hint of tension in his voice, nodding towards a clothes rack in the corner. “Even my outfit for the next day,” he adds shyly.

This guy cannot possibly be the Professor. She’ll kill Angel as soon as she gets hold of him.

Except… A cold shiver runs down Raquel’s spine. He’s so meticulous – exactly the kind of person it would take to plan a Royal Mint heist. She growls quietly. Her own paranoia is taking hold of her.

If Salva really is the Professor, why would he risk bringing her where he lives?

(It wasn’t his idea to bring her here; it was hers, Raquel’s mind answers while she picks up the second shoe).

He’s used her, hasn’t he? She frowns. No, he hasn’t. She hasn’t given him any information about the robbery beyond the things that are common knowledge. 

(He just hasn’t had a chance to take advantage of their freshly made up relationship yet).

She’s the one who initiated this whole thing. He couldn’t have known she’d invite him for a drink. He couldn’t have known she’d even notice him or that her mother would be so persistent telling her to get laid.

(If he really is the Professor, he’s turned her into the most hated person in Spain when he released the recording of their negotiation about Allison Parker; he’s pushed her to a brink and then planted himself in her life when she’d be happy to have any support, any kindness she could get).

“I’ll call you!” she throws with an awkward smile, retreating to the exit as fast as she can. He makes no effort to stop her. Just nods, confusion growing stronger on his face. She must really look like one of _those_ women right now. Women who regret screwing a guy the moment the heat of their orgasm wears off.

She isn’t that woman.

She dials Angel’s number once again as soon as she is out, fresh night air cooling down her burning cheeks. Still no answer. _Fuck you, Angel._ It’s a long way home, and she heads to Hanoi - leaving Salva’s place in a hurry, she didn’t even use a bathroom there.

Once inside, she locks the door and squats down, throwing the contents of her purse onto the floor. Inspects every item, turns it inside out, opens and closes all compartments. _Nothing_. There’s no mike that she can find. She feels a mixture of relief and growing rage.

Calling Angel’s phone doesn’t add anything to the equation, and she listens to the first voicemail. Deep down she knows – from the amount of them – she’s not going to like what she hears. She isn’t wrong.

Angel’s drunk.

Angel’s driving.

Angel’s calling her names.

She walks out of the bathroom, phone pressed to her ear, and her eyes immediately catch the TV screen on the wall.

Angel’s car has crashed.

She stands there, unable to move, for a long moment just staring at the news piece about the accident, and then runs out of the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would be thrilled to hear what you guys think, but no pressure. I know we all have lives <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have enough words to express how thankful I am to my amazing critic KarenDeidre who pushes me to make everything make sense!

Raquel stands outside of Hanoi, for a brief second conflicted whether to hurry back into the hangar and arrest Salva (just because she didn’t find a bug on her, doesn’t mean he’s clean) or head to the hospital to see if her friend needs help.

She’s thrown some hurtful accusations at Angel in a heat of an argument, but she worries about him. (No matter how things went these past few days, Angel _is still_ her friend).

She’d even suspect it to be too much of a coincidence for him to get into a life threatening crash exactly when he might have (or might have not!) discovered the true identity of the Professor… But Angel was drunk like shit. He shouldn’t have been driving like that.

Raquel picks up the pace, heading to the nearest taxi. The ride isn’t long, just enough time for her to bring herself to write a text to Salva.

If he’s innocent, she _wants_ him to be with her.

If he’s guilty, she _needs_ him to be with her.

The irony.

Raquel rubs her eyes, trying to come up with the right words. This feels even more awkward than asking a guy out for a drink (but she’s already done it, so it shouldn’t be too complicated).

Poor Angel. It’s hard to wrap her mind around this. The news said he was in a coma. _Critical condition._

If he really is a victim, if the Professor had something to do with Angel’s car accident to silence a nosy sub-inspector, Raquel won’t be able to forgive herself. Angel’s warned her about Salva. He’s warned her that this guy seemed suspicious.

Deep breath.

_Hey Salva. Sorry about earlier, I…_

She pauses.

She’s already admitted it wasn’t about her daughter. Can she blame her distress on her mother? What if Salva rashes to help her, though? Raquel somehow doesn’t doubt that he might.

Can she tell him the truth? That her partner of fifteen years just got into a car accident and is between life and death? If Salva is the Professor, he is aware of this anyways, and should she lie, he’ll know she’s onto him.

Except, he might also know that her mood changed way before Angel’s body was pulled out of the car. Damn it.

She doesn’t notice how the taxi pulls up next to the hospital, and then almost walks out without paying. The text to Salva remains unsent.

Raquel runs through the corridors, her heart pounding. What happened at Salva’s doesn’t seem to matter anymore – a robber or a sweet guy, he’s not the one who’s supported her for the past fifteen years, he’s not the one who listened to her ravels or covered for her when she needed to skip a few hours of work to tend to her daughter.

Tears start coming down her cheeks when she makes it to the right floor. Breathing turns into sobs when she approaches the door to the ward. Her lips are wobbling as she opens it, and then she freezes there, stunned and unable to move, breath stuck in her throat. She cannot recognize Angel – what is left of him is lying on the bed, all wrapped and covered and connected to the life support.

“I’m so sorry,” Raquel manages, swallowing a sudden urge to throw up.

Angel’s wife doesn’t turn around. She just sits by the bed, her hand Angel’s belly; face down, shoulders shaking vividly. Raquel stands, watching Angel’s face. It’s hard to call it a face. It’s a mask made up of bandages and tubes. Her gaze rests on his closed eyes.

“They say he called you seventeen times,” Mari Carmen finally speaks, her back still turned to Raquel, and Raquel wakes up from trance. She wipes her nose, sniffs and takes a step forward. “Why did my husband call you? Why…”

“I don’t know…”

Raquel hides her eyes. She’s lying. She knows why. She hasn’t heard all the messages, but she’s heard enough. At least, for now.

“They say he was still holding the phone in his hand when they pulled him out of the car,” Mari Carmen finally faces Raquel, eyes swollen, nose red. “They say he crashed the car because of a phone in his hand...” she cries, stepping closer to Raquel.

_The text._

Raquel winces and covers her eyes with a palm. It must have been the text he sent her. That stupid text… Angel was drunk and he was driving and he was leaving voicemails – that alone was bad enough. But has he really sent the fucking text without even pulling over?

Raquel takes a deep breath. Mari Carmen keeps on throwing questions mixed with accusations and then she cries, and then blames Raquel for all of it again, calls for her guilt, cries again, and Raquel instinctively extends her hands to pull the poor woman into a hug. That doesn’t work out well. Mari Carmen throws her hands away, her voice goes even higher.

“There were some problems at work,” Raquel offers as calmly as possible, sniffing.

That’s a shitty explanation.

She’s the sole reason any of this has happened to Angel, whether it’s because she’s thrown hurtful accusations into his face, or because he chose to text her about a guy she went out with.

Driving under influence, damage of the public property… even if they don’t prosecute Angel for being Professor’s mole, his career is over.

Raquel doesn’t understand why any of it makes sense right now: Angel is on a hospital bed, unconscious; his arms and legs broken, and that’s what she can see from here, it’s obviously much worse. 

One of the machines makes a sudden loud sound – both Raquel and Mari Carmen turn to look at the source. A nurse runs in, pushing both women aside, and checks Angel’s vitals. Another one joins her, and then they ask the visitors out of the room. The door closes, then opens to let a running doctor in, and closes again.

It doesn’t take too long before Raquel sees the doctor come out, his face stone cold.

She steps away.

Deep down she already knows what he’s about to say. It starts hurting even before he parts his lips.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says quietly to Mari Carmen, and Raquel hides her face in her hands; takes one more step further away from them.

She doesn’t register the exact words coming out of the doctor’s mouth, but she hears enough. Angel is gone. Her partner is gone. The guy she’s had a one night stand with years ago that she was eternally reminded of – is gone. The… The… She coughs, trying to suppress the sound and avoid unwanted attention from Mari Carmen or anybody else.

_You stupid, stupid asshole, why did you have to be so reckless._

Raquel doesn’t notice how she slides down, following a wall until she sits on the floor, her side pressed to a cold surface.

_Don't look at me like that. I'm not leaving you alone…_

_It wasn’t in Cercedilla, it was in Miraflores…_

_What was all that about Andy Warhol?.._

_The guy I saw you with, you were holding hands. Would you sleep with him?.._

_Angel, what have you done?_

As if in trance, she pulls out her phone and stares at the text Angel has sent her. She sniffs. If only he wasn’t busy sending it, if only he didn’t get so distracted while driving… Angel might have been able to pull the steering wheel and get his car back onto the road, even if at last moment. His injuries might have been less dangerous. He might… He might have still been alive.

Was it worth it? Raquel rubs her eyes – there’s mascara on her fingers now. Even if what Angel said is true, was it the fuck worth it? She slowly gets up onto her feet. Hospital corridor echos with Mari Carmen’s crying, but Raquel heads to the exit without giving her a second look.

Her feet feel cotton, her throat is sore, head pounds with every step.

She presses the phone to her ear and, as she passes through the hospital door, Angel yells into her ear what a bitch she is.

 _Not even Prieto would want her_.

Raquel knows she shouldn’t be listening to this. There’s no good to come out of it, no fix for anything. But she continues, as if walking down a dark staircase. Her mind begs her not to, but she just can’t stop.

The wind throws her hair, sticking it to her wet face. Angel’s voice throws curses into her ear, and Raquel doesn’t notice how she ends up on the road. Headlights blind her, and then there’s a deafening squeak of car breaks and tires skidding on the asphalt.

_Paula’s green jumper doesn’t fit her pink pants._

_Mom has a hundred stickers with reminders in her closet that she thinks Raquel hasn’t noticed._

_Alberto drinks too much coffee._

_Salva’s watch is very old…_

Raquel feels her body pulled into the air and then she hits the ground, her knees hurt at the contact. Whoever's just pushed her lands heavily on top, forcing her even lower as the car passes by.

Still in shock, Raquel glances at her phone. It shines on the road a few meters away from her, screen cracked. She can see someone’s calling, but it’s impossible to read the caller ID through a broken glass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be insanely happy to hear what you think, but no pressure. I know, we all have lives.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest of thankyous to KarenDeidre for her help with this chapter!!! DMs are open: https://twitter.com/MariaPurt

The black leather sofa creaks when Raquel leans in to kiss him and then gets up onto her feet, walking slowly – barefoot – to the table. Sergio watches her feet step onto the floor, one after another, and then smiles to himself, buttoning up his shirt while his eyes are stuck on Raquel’s half naked body.

She picks up her phone lazily, turns to him, smiling, then looks at the phone.

That’s when Raquel’s face changes.

“Is everything alright, Raquel?” Sergio frowns.

Something must be off. She becomes pale, then her cheeks turn red; she swallows a few times… And she holds her phone like her life depends on it.

“Uh-huh,” Raquel moos without turning to face him.

Sergio repeats the question, but that doesn’t change much. He moves his eyes away from her face – but his gaze stops on her hips, the underwear she pulled up when she hopped off the sofa still needs adjusting.

He gets up and comes closer, almost touching her back with his chest. He rests his hands on her shoulders, playing with the straps of her bra and her top, contemplating doing the same with her panties.

“Is your daughter alright?”

“Yes. Yes, she’s alright, thank you…”

She shivers, he can sense that much, and his hand follows her arm, pulling it up to his mouth for a kiss. Her skin feels cold under his fingers. Sergio starts massaging her shoulders, trying to warm her up, because it really is chilly in the room, and Raquel tilts her head, her body leans to his.

He didn’t plan for this to happen, none of this. He didn’t even view this as a vague probability. The Inspector investigating a crime he is committing was never supposed to want to have sex with him (and it was a good one, the best one he’s had, and that thought pricks like a knife between his ribs and in the bottom of his belly). 

It’s his mistake, Sergio knows and accepts that it is, but he refuses to regret any of it, because, fuck, this was amazing. He wants it to last, even if only for the ten days they have (this blows the air out of his lungs and makes him freeze where he stands when Raquel pulls away and starts getting dressed).

She’s gorgeous. He smiles like an idiot.

“I should go,” she states quickly, swaying out of his embrace.

“Y-yes, of course,” he nods, awkwardly fixing his glasses, because he suddenly doesn’t know where to put his hands once her body isn’t there.

“Thank you for… For everything. It was nice…”

She’s nervous, glancing at her phone over and over again while putting on her clothes, and Sergio’s mind gives way to Professor’s. He’s watching Raquel’s moves, analyses her words and gestures, trying to understand what is going on.

(And he knows a lot can go wrong right now).

He’s outsmarted her partner with this place. Having installed everything that Angel had mentioned to Raquel, Sergio knows he’s outsmarted them both, and the time he and Raquel have just spent together proves that she’s bought this lie like he had hoped she would… But has something else come up? He’s heard that Angel Rubio was suspended and is no longer involved in the investigation, but… Has the son of a bitch texted her something else about the hangar or about the poor cider guy Salva?

Sergio clenches his fists and licks his lips when Raquel turns away, searching for her jacket.

He stares at her purse that still rests on the table – there’s a gun there.

She doesn’t seem to be going for it just yet. That’s a good sign.

Careful not to draw any unneeded attention to his actions, Sergio takes a step closer to the table and takes off his father’s watch from his wrist. He puts the watch next to Raquel’s purse, waiting to see if she tries to take it with her. It’s so close to her purse, Raquel will think she can grab it without him noticing.

If she does, he’ll know she suspects him and wants his fingerprints. If she leaves the watch lying on the table, the text on her phone has probably nothing to do with him.

There is a moment when he can swear she goes for the purse – or the watch lying beside it, or the gun in it – and Sergio tenses, getting ready to act. It doesn’t come to that, though. When Raquel leaves his place with an awkward _‘I’ll call you!’_ , the watch is still on the table, and Sergio’s heart pounds twice faster: it must be something inside the Royal Mint.

Why else would she get a text so late at night?

He gasps, rushing to get dressed, and practically runs towards the exit. He stops for a moment before stepping outside, glances back at the piano; his body reminds him how badly Inspectora likes men who can play music… And then he runs outside, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one follows him.

He makes it just in time: opening the hangar door, he can hear the landline phone ringing inside. Something is definitely wrong, because it’s nowhere near their scheduled call time.

This is an emergency, and the key from his hand treacherously falls onto the ground. Sergio picks it up, opens the door and runs.

“You are supposed to be by the screens,” he hears his brother when he picks up the phone.

Fuck. He looks at the cameras. Hostages… There are loose hostages, at least a dozen of them, oh, this is bad, this is so bad.

And then there’s yelling and gunshots, and panic and more cursing… And Sergio does his best to contain the mess, but in the end he wonders what would have happened if he didn’t show up when he did. He doubts he did any good. It seems to him he might’ve made things worse.

One of his team members is dead and one is as good as a vegetable (he forces himself not to think of them as people, at least, not right now, but Rio’s crying into the phone, and Sergio closes his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks: he’s let them down; they all trusted him and he’s let them all down).

These losses are definitely not worth the hostages that they managed to stop from escaping.

He isn’t sure if they can still pull it off. He discusses possibilities with his brother, tries to make him promise not to hurt the hostages, but Sergio knows he’s failing, because Tokyo is dead and Oslo isn’t much better, and there are people inside the Royal Mint who are responsible for it… And he himself wants them punished.

Fuck.

He rubs his eyes and pushes his glasses higher. Berlin promises him nothing.

Sergio takes a pill and tries to get at least a couple hours of rest before the morning comes (because when that happens, he knows he’ll have to deal with Raquel Murillo being at her toughest about the night events inside the Mint), but that isn’t meant to happen. When Sergio finally falls asleep, his cell phone rings. Raquel’s mother sounds even more worried than the last time he heard her. She speaks fast, and at first his sleepy mind cannot understand what it is about.

Then it hits him like a metal stick, landing on the back of his head.

 _Angel Rubio_. That nosy son of a bitch figured it all out and left a voicemail on Raquel’s phone in the house.

Sergio swallows, takes a deep breath and holds it until his eyes start feeling numb.

This is the end. This is it. He’s lost. Rubio must have left that message hours ago, and by now he’s found another way of getting through to Raquel (or anybody else). Sergio drops his body heavily onto a chair, his vision blurs and he can’t see the screens in front of him. He thinks, thinks fast, tossing all the wrong ideas how to fix it. Finally, he turns on Angel’s mike to hear where the sub-inspector is and what is happening. Sergio needs to know how much time they still have.

Only, the mike is silent. There’s nothing, not even the sound of an empty room. It’s… off. Frowning, Sergio checks the settings and tries again. He scrolls the news, deep down fearing to see that the police has identified him and are on the way to make an arrest. Instead, he sees that the sub-inspector Angel Rubio is at the hospital after a major car crash. His eyes widen. He cannot be so lucky, can he? 

It doesn’t make things that much better. Sergio stoops, staring at the floor.

If Raquel hears that message – whether from the phone or from her mother – the heist is over. Sergio’s entire team goes to prison, and he honors his father’s memory by feeding even more people to the system’s brutal machine.

He hates what he’s going to have to do. He wants a different way, but there isn’t one.

Sergio puts on his boxing gloves and starts punching the bag, hoping an alternative idea comes. _When did his perfect victimless crime start leaving a blood trail?_ The idea doesn’t come. Marivi Fuentes, a mother of the woman he can’t stop thinking about, has to die. It will be painless for the victim, but he won’t be able to look Raquel in the eye after this. What he feels for her will become irrelevant.

It was too good to be true. It was too good to last.

He lands his fists on the punching bag with all the despair and pain he’s got in him. Blood is pounding in his ears over the sound of his own hectic breathing, and it takes Sergio a solid minute to realize that his phone is ringing again. It’s not _the_ _phone_ , though, not the call coming from the Royal Mint. It’s his cell, and for a few seconds Sergio ignores the sound, connecting his fists with the punching bag aggressively. He stops abruptly, panting, takes off a glove and walks to the desk, glancing automatically onto the screens. All seems quiet, but that’s a bitter quietness. Tokyo isn’t with them anymore. Oslo isn’t with them anymore. It’s his, Sergio’s fault.

He grimaces before moving his gaze onto his cell phone and then grimaces once again, when he reads the caller ID.

Of all the people that could be calling him at this very moment, this is the worst option, both emotionally and technically. He knows he can’t just ignore the call. With a heavy sigh, he answers.

“Raquel?” he asks, his voice genuinely surprised (and scared, but Sergio hopes he’s covered that bit).

Has she already heard the message from her partner? Is she calling to tell him there’s an armed squad standing outside his hangar and that he should exit with his arms raised or they’ll shoot him dead?

“Hi, Salva… I… I meant to text you, but my phone broke…”

He coughs at her words. She sounds anything but what he feared. She’s not calling to tell him to surrender, her voice is too soft for that, too uncertain.

A storm of thoughts takes over his mind. He’s screwed up, he’s screwed up so badly, and now other people are paying the price for it. A lot of people are paying the price for his mistakes, and she is not going to be an exception. He hates it. It stings, and it takes all of him to sound calm, because he feels like falling onto his knees and crying right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is the fuel for the ficwriter, but it's completely okay if you don't feel like talking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KarenDeidre is an angel and helped me so much with this chapter. If you are looking for something meaningful to read, please do check her Serquel fics. They are amazing! https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935871

“I’m fine,” Raquel mumbles, when someone’s hands try to pull her up from the ground.

With a corner of her eye she sees that the car has stopped and the driver is running towards her as well. This is so embarrassing. She stands on her four, one shoe on, messy hair covering most of her face (and she feels the scratches burn under it), breasts almost out of her bra, leather skirt way too high on her thighs.

Finally, the driver reaches her, he and whoever’s pushed her off the road now lift her by the arms into a standing position. Raquel sways, trying to find balance: standing in one stiletto is not comfortable at all.

She sees both men now say something, but there’s just ringing in her ears and flashes of her daughter’s and mother’s faces, and she just mumbles another ‘I’m fine’, swaying on her feet with her eyes half closed. Raquel awkwardly pulls down her skirt, only to realize it’s ripped open on a side, and her legs are covered in blood that is still coming from somewhere on her body.

“She’s hit her head,” Raquel hears her savior say to the car driver.

“She came out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, I saw… Hey, are you here?” he addresses Raquel, snapping his fingers in front of her face and keeping his other hand on her back for support.

She nods, blinking; wills the nausea away (which doesn’t work, and Raquel presses her palm to her lips).

“I’ll walk you to ER, it’s near,” one of the men says, the other one winces.

“My phone,” Raquel motions towards the road where her phone is no longer visible in the dark. Whoever was calling her has given up.

“Hey…” the driver addresses her softly, “Hey!” he repeats louder when she pays no attention. “Are you going to be alright?”

Raquel feels blood tickling its way out of her nose – just how hard did she hit her head when she landed? Confused, she looks around, searching for her purse. She can’t just leave it on the road. There’s her gun in there.

She sees her other shoe, takes off the one she’s wearing; holds it in her hand.

“Are you working… here?” the guy who’s pushed her off the road asks. She shakes her head.

“Can I take you somewhere if you don’t want to go to the hospital?” the driver adds. “Whatever your reasons…”

“I’m a cop,” Raquel whispers under her breath, bending down to pick up her purse when she finally spots it on the side of the road.

She must really look bad if people mistake her for… whatever they think she is. Her head goes spinning, and she almost falls, hanging on the hands of the two men who rush to catch her.

“Hospital it is, then,” the driver picks up her purse in a quick motion, hands her the second shoe, then grabs her phone and they both walk her to where she’s just walked out from. Raquel sighs, but doesn’t argue. She’s feeling weak and the blood coming from her nose tastes sour in her mouth.

“I’m fine,” she states firmer to the nurse, once they are inside. “Just fell.”

The nurse doesn’t react in any way. She sits Raquel down, asks about her allergies, then gives her a shot of something before filling out any forms.

“Should I call someone?” the girl asks Raquel, when she’s done cleaning her face, and puts a patch on Raquel’s chin.

Raquel moos negatively and looks at the phone again. Seeing the screen closer, as broken as it is, she now knows it’s her mother calling her. Oh shit. Of course, she is calling her. It’s early morning and Raquel was supposed to be back from her date a few hours ago. She shuts her eyes. She can’t answer. She’ll only scare her mother with her shaky voice and the hospital sounds in the background.

Raquel winces when the nurse starts cleaning her legs and arms.

“This was a nasty fall…” the girl states thoughtfully. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police? If someone attacked you…”

These last words ring in Raquel’s ears. She wishes she could just say that no one could have attacked her, because she’s got a 9mm in her purse, but that would be a lie. The nurse goes on cleaning her wounds and then puts a few stitches, every now and then glancing at Raquel’s face as if expecting an answer. Raquel doesn’t give any – it’s all embarrassing as it is.

The sun is starting to rise when the doctor gets the results of Raquel’s head scans and confirms no internal bleeding.

Despite her better judgment, Raquel finds herself wanting to be back in Salva’s embrace. She feels like hiding from everything that is wrong with her right now. At this particular moment it matters not that he might be that arrogant Professor that mocks her for the entire world to see. He’s showed her more kindness in these past few days than she’d received in years. She feels safe with him. She wants, she _needs_ to feel that right now, or she fears she’ll break. This is a painful thought, yet, Raquel dives into it, absentmindedly watching a nurse push a yet another needle into her arm.

How did she get to this point? How did she get to a point where she has no one to turn to when she’s broken like this?

This is ridiculous. But as the nurse pulls the needle out of Raquel’s vein, Raquel reaches out for her phone. She looks at the text she never sent. Does it even make sense to make up excuses right now? Her breathing heavy, she swallows hard when after almost a minute Salva doesn’t pick up. If she shows up at home like this – with wounded legs and arms, scratches and bruises on her face and a sedative flowing through her body, her daughter will freak out. No-no, she cannot scare her, not like this, not when Paula is already leaning so much towards wanting to live with her father.

Finally, there’s a short click, and,

“Raquel?”

“Hi, Salva… I…” she rubs her eyes. “I meant to text you, but my phone broke…”

He coughs.

“Look, Raquel, this isn’t…”

“No, please. This has been the worst night of my life,” she interrupts him, then freezes, dreading that what he was trying to say had something to do with ‘this isn’t a good time’. _Fuck, Raquel, how much lower can you fall?_ She inhales sharply, trying to stop herself from crying again. She has no choice. She’s got no one else to call, because... _Because Angel, her potato head friend of the past fifteen years, is dead._ Raquel presses her hand to the gurney she’s sitting on, then slowly lies down. The meds they’ve injected her with make her feel dizzy, and she yawns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… And, sorry to wake you up so early. My good friend and colleague has just died, Angel… He was drunk and… His car crashed… You’ve met him. And I… I got…”

Another breath, another sob.

“Raquel, are you alright?” his voice, tensed at first, now becomes worried, annoyance replaced by kindness, and she no longer feels like he would prefer to end this conversation as soon as possible.

She drops her palm onto her face, shaking silently.

“No, Salva, I’m not, I’m… I know this is too much to ask, but I don’t want to scare my mom and my daughter… I look like hell. This is too much to ask, but is there… Is there any chance you could drive past my home and get a fresh change of clothes for me? I look like a date-gone-wrong-hooker, I’m at a hospital now, I…” she stops as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

As high on meds as she is, her mind still throws a punch: what if Angel said the truth? What if Salva really is the Professor, and she is about to give a notorious criminal her home address and basically invite him into her house? Raquel shuts her eyes, squeezes them so tight it hurts.

If the guy on the other side of the line really is the Professor, he most probably knows her home address by now anyways.

“Raquel!” his loud voice pulls her back into reality. “What happened? Are you injured?”

“Just scratches,” Raquel shakes her head as if he can magically see her gesture, then touches the bandage on her chin and winces. “I’m sorry. I really am, you didn’t sign up for any of this when you slept with me. I promise I…” she means to say she’s not usually such a mess, but who is she lying to, exactly? He already knows how she is. And isn’t that why he was so eager to stick around in the first place? Because he pitied her? (Or because he saw an opportunity, her mind fends off). Right now she’ll take whatever it is, she just doesn’t want to be alone. “I really need the bodyguard in glasses,” she laughs through tears.

“Okay,” Salva responds after a prolonged pause, his tone tensed again. Raquel ignores a nagging feeling that she’s caught him in the middle of something he’d rather not be interrupted doing. For once she’ll allow herself to be selfish. “Text me the address, I… Wait, what should I say to your mother?” he coughs so uncomfortably that Raquel can’t help but smile.

“Just tell her I’m stuck at work and need fresh clothes. This wouldn’t be the first time. She knows what to give you.”

“Raquel… Can’t she call you? I mean… I mean, if she does, wouldn’t she… wouldn’t she hear that you are inside a hospital?”

This time Raquel laughs genuinely, amused. This guy would make a horrible spy, let alone a criminal mastermind. He’s too shy and borderline horrified of even meeting a mother of a woman he’s just slept with.

“That’s why I’m not answering her calls till I have clothes to get out of here, Salva. I don’t want her to worry.”

Salva coughs again, then,

“Text me the address, I’m on my way now.”

She hears the ringing of a key chain in the background, and then she ends the call, realizing that she can’t text anything from a broken phone. Cursing under her breath, Raquel calls again to tell Salva her home address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see how this fic is not the fandom's cup of tea, but I love writing it nonetheless. It's fun. Big thank you to those few sweet souls who leave substantial feedback, you are my everything!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to KarenDeidre for being the most supportive and patient beta in the world! (And also for writing my new fav Serquel darkfic). Warmest of hugs to the generous angels who's given feedback!

“Text me the address, I’m on my way now,” Sergio states into the phone, playing with a key chain, his mind already a thousand miles away from here.

How did everything spiral out of control so badly? What did he miss?

He knows the answer.

Sergio hangs up, wiping the sweat off of his face and neck with a towel. His shoulders hurt, because he’s landed a few punches that were too much, but he appreciates this pain right now. He sighs.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As if it wasn’t hard enough on him without Raquel’s call.

Shit.

He takes off his glasses, wipes them and puts them back on. His mind is torn between a genuine worry for Raquel’s wellbeing and an acknowledgement that the moment she is out of that hospital her mother is going to tell her all about Angel’s message, and the heist is doomed…

Sergio’s conflicted how he feels about the sub-inspector’s death. Angel Rubio won’t tell anyone the hangar’s location or who the Professor truly is, thus leaving the heist in a safer place. But at the same time, his passing takes a toll on Raquel.

Is she going to be able to continue her work in the tent like Sergio needs her to?

(And how is she, really? She sounded way worse than he’s ever heard her, and Sergio hates how that _bodyguard with glasses_ resonated inside his chest).

Just as he’s about to pull off his wet undershirt, his phone rings again, and Sergio curses under his breath when he sees it’s Raquel. Did she change her mind about his visit to her house? Did something happen to her and they are just dialing her latest contact? Did she actually answer her mother’s call and now is about to invite him into a trap, because she knows who he is?

Is, perhaps, her plea to go to her house a trap on its own? Who’s to say a squad is not waiting for Sergio there, ready to arrest (or shoot, like they did with his father) him as soon as he shows up?

But she’s merely calling to apologize yet again for disturbing him, and then she tells him the address, because her phone is broken and she cannot send a text, and Sergio feels like a moron, because his paranoia is taking hold of him over nothing. Raquel doesn’t behave like someone who’s onto him. She’s the same fragile (hurt and scared) woman he’s met in Hanoi, and he feels even sorrier for her now.

It can’t be a trap.

He shouldn’t make it one, either, Sergio thinks to himself, fixing his tie in front of a mirror.

He convinces himself that the only reason he’s going to change his initial plan is because the murder he was planning is no longer a perfect one. It’s no longer going to look like an accident, because his presence in the house of Raquel’s mother is no longer going to be unnoticed.

But that’s a lie.

He doesn’t have what it takes to kill the old woman, not anymore, not after he’s heard Raquel’s distressed voice.

The _Professor_ in him claims that it’s because he shouldn’t push Raquel off the edge. He needs her to stay strong and continue the negotiations with robbers. She’s already lost her partner and friend tonight. If her mother dies too, there is no way Inspectora will have power to go on working on the case. He’ll lose the perfect negotiator he needs to pulls it off. (Because he’s already under her skin).

 _Sergio_ , as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, simply thinks she’s had enough. She doesn’t deserve this.

_Shit._

He shouldn’t have… what?

He closes the hangar door and rides his bike to the address Raquel has given him, still unsure what he’s going to do about it all. Can he blame it all on a misunderstanding? Convince Raquel’s mother the message she has on her phone is nothing but a joke of a drunken – and now diseased – ex-boyfriend of her daughter’s? Or, perhaps, just hide the old woman away until the heist is over and then let Raquel know where to find her mother when he is safely out of Spain? How much better is this anyways? Because it’s obvious Raquel won’t be able to continue working the case if her mother is kidnapped, and with sub-inspector Angel Rubio dead, there’s no telling who will be in charge then.

(He actually has a pretty good idea who might take over, but he hates that option, it’s going to be the end of a victimless robbery).

It wouldn’t be victimless if he poisoned Raquel’s mother anyways, though (Sergio frowns at the thought – there’s no way Marivi Fuentes dies today, no-no-no – and he takes the dioxin bottle out of his pocket).

Fuck.

Parking the bike two blocks away from Raquel’s house, Sergio walks. He is still hesitating.

He needs Raquel on the case – now more than before, because he already knows how to pull her strings and have the whole thing done without anybody getting hurt (except for her career, but that’s a small price to pay, and he’ll take care of her finances afterwards, he tells himself). He also needs to make sure her mother can’t tell her the truth about his identity or the hangar’s location. Not now, at least. That’s crucial. And most importantly, he needs to keep a clear mind. He’s got hostages and his team to worry about, their lives depend on his decisions and his mistakes.

He knocks on the door.

“Good morning, senora,” he smiles shyly as soon as the door opens and a sleepy gray-haired woman appears in front of him. She looks confused, but smiles broadly before he finishes his greeting.

“Good morning. Can I help you?”

“I’m Salva. Raquel’s friend. We s-spoke on the phone.”

For a few moments the woman stares at him as if she has no idea what he’s talking about. If she doesn’t invite him in, he won’t be able to erase the recording (and find that piece of paper she read the message to him from, he notes).

“Uh, yes, of course. Well, come in.”

“Thanks,” he smiles uncomfortably to hide his relief.

It’s a brief feeling, because as soon as he’s in, his chest starts hurting all over again. He isn’t yet sure how to proceed.

“This way,” she waves at him, inviting to come to the kitchen, and Sergio looks around like a cornered animal. He doesn’t have too much time before he has to announce why he is here, and once that happens, there will be even less time left to do something.

“I…” he starts, his eyes focusing on a kid’s backpack near the door. Raquel’s daughter is home. Of course she is, it’s too early for her to be at school, damn it. “You have a gorgeous home. Really.”

“Thank you. Well, Raquel isn’t home. She works way too hard.”

“Yes,” he smiles, nodding. “That is actually why I am here. I… She asked for some clothes, I mean, she is stuck at work, you know, the big case,” he gestures to show the scale, “and asked me to stop by and get a change of clothes for her,” he mumbles, his eyes avoiding to look at the woman.

She chuckles. Sergio frowns, confused by her reaction.

“Of course,” she nods and is about to leave when she turns to face him again. “I’m going to have some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Uh…” he lets out. “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

“Of course, why not, thank you…” Sergio says, following her into the kitchen, his eyes lock on the landline phone as soon as he sees it. “Would you mind terribly if I used your phone? Just a quick call. Mine is dead.”

Raquel’s mother hums a ‘yes’, not paying much attention to him. He deletes the message while she’s making coffee, and then carefully looks through the notes on the counter till he finds the one she’s read to him. By the time Marivi places two coffee cups on the table, the only thing Sergio has yet to figure out is how to make sure she doesn’t tell Raquel what she knows. Sergio smiles, thanks for the coffee and takes a sip. It’s burning hot. Marivi goes on talking, and he soon realizes he’s not smiling because he has to be polite. He’s smiling because he genuinely feels like smiling to her. Damn it.

He should be thinking faster, Raquel won’t stay in that hospital forever, and he really wishes to get there soon, because she sounded all but well.

(And because he shouldn’t be away from his screens for too long).

“My daughter didn’t sleep here last night. Was she with you?”

“Well… To be honest, yes. We were… We were together…”

“Did you two make love?” she asks, smiling, and coffee gets stuck in Sergio’s throat; memories of the night take over his body for a brief moment.

_Raquel’s fingertips on the back of his neck. Her lips on his face. Her breasts touching his chest. Her body on top of his, pinning him down. Her crotch against…_

Sergio winces, crosses his legs uncomfortably to hide his sudden erection and mumbles a positive response, sweat rolling down under his shirt.

“Good,” she smiles happily. “I’m glad. She should have sex…”

This conversation is awkward, and he should really be on his way. He has to wrap it up, he has to do it now. He needs to check up on Raquel, and he needs to check up on his team, and then he needs to hide away and try to process everything that has happened in the past hours… He’s already deleted the message, the only thing remaining is the old woman in front of him.

He chooses to lie.

“If I’m completely honest with you, it... it seems like not everyone shares your, would we call it perspective? Don’t get me wrong, I really like your daughter, but her colleague is not happy about us two being together. In fact, that message you’ve called me about earlier this morning…” he bleats somewhat theatrically.

He stops in the middle of the sentence when he notices confusion on Marivi’s face. Has he said something wrong? Something he wasn’t supposed to mention?

“What message?” she inquires, shocking Sergio with her genuine curiosity.

“The message you…” he cuts himself short, stares at her, then starts a new sentence, “You know Raquel’s partner, Angel Rubio?”

“Uh, yes, of course. Such a good man. And his wife is lovely. I haven’t seen them in awhile though…”

“And…” Sergio sighs: as bad as the situation is, perhaps, it can still be just a little better than he initially assessed. “And…”

He grimaces. This is dangerous. Marivi looks at him with growing uncertainty, yet, still smiling.

“Have you heard from him lately?” Sergio shoots, afraid of the answer he might get despite his high hopes.

But Marivi shakes her head negatively, and his eyes are ready to become wet. He gasps, barely containing the sound. Can it be? Is it possible?

“I’m sorry, I…” she smiles warmly, but Sergio can see she is suddenly uncomfortable. Did he do something wrong? “What was your name, again?”

Sergio frowns. Has Angel’s message mentioned his name? Has he literally just introduced himself to Raquel’s mother as the guy from the fucking message? He sees the woman turn around and walk towards the phone…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback could make one ficwriter happy and inspired, but it's okay if you have no time or don't feel like talking.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having an almost illegal amount of fun writing this fic. KarenDeidre, you are the best fic-co-smoker I could wish for!

Sergio stays silent, breathless. Marivi walks past the phone and picks up the coffee pot.

“I’m Raquel’s friend,” he offers after a few seconds, hoping to avoid giving his name once again.

“Raquel is not home, I’m afraid,” Marivi answers, and this time he can clearly feel tears form in his eyes. He’s not wrong, this is it, of all the ways out he couldn’t even imagine, this is the best and most harmless one.

“Yes, she’s asked me to bring her some clothes,” he probes further, not yet ready to believe his luck.

“Is she alright?” Marivi asks with obvious worry.

“Yes-yes, she is just stuck at work…”

“She works way too hard.”

The tension that has been growing inside him is gone in a blink, and Sergio cannot stop himself from smiling like a happy idiot. He feels like giving the woman a hug, but instead, he reminds her about Raquel’s clothes, and then rushes out of the house, a paper bag in his hand.

“Which hospital are you in, Raquel?” he asks into his cell phone as soon as the bag is safely secured on his bike.

He can clearly hear her sniff before she answers. Her voice is weak, almost a whisper. Professor inside him notes how for a moment it no longer matters whether Raquel is going to be able to go back to work as long as she is going to be alright. He pushes that thought away. No. He needs her to be okay. He needs her to be okay enough to go back to work. They all need her to.

His determination shatters when he finds Raquel. She looks tiny, a half of her size at best, seated on a stretcher, dressed in hospital clothes, face hidden in her palms.

She doesn’t notice Sergio at first, giving him time to study her features. Has something else happened? Have they already called her from the tent to tell about the night shootout inside the Mint? Police must be going crazy at the moment, unable to get hold of Professor to verify if all the hostages are really alive (though, Berlin should take care of that for a time being). Is Raquel going to go back to work as soon as she gets her clothes? She probably is, Sergio nods to himself, mapping out what the Professor is going to say to her over the phone.

Salva and Professor should not sound similar when they address the death of the sub-inspector.

“Hey…” he begins softly, careful not to startle her. “Took me awhile to figure out where you were.”

“Sorry, I wanted to warn you they’d transferred me to neurology, but my phone died and…”

“Why did they transfer you?” his face changes without him realizing it. “Is it something serious?”

Why is he asking this, exactly? Because he needs her to be able to work or because he wants her to be okay? Sergio shrugs, pushing the question away.

“Just additional tests, because I work for the police.”

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head. What an idiot. Her partner’s just died. There must be a reason why of all the people in her life she chose to call Salva – the guy she’d met three days ago. “I’m so… So sorry, Raquel. I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you feeling?”

“Like… like…”

She pants, gasps, trying to find words, and Sergio immediately regrets his question. He knows how she’s feeling. Not exactly _knows_ , but can imagine very well. He lets his grief and pain take over, squeeze his chest – and then exhales sharply, self-loathing ready to eat him alive.

Raquel’s current state is on him.

The only reason his heist is still happening is because Angel Rubio is dead.

Sergio shivers: he was willing to kill Raquel’s mother to keep the heist going. He’s celebrating the death of his lover’s friend. He hates what he’s become, what this whole situation has turned him into.

Sergio steps closer and pulls her into his embrace. Poor soul.

“If I can help… In any way, tell me, Raquel. Your bodyguard in glasses is here,” he whispers, half certain she can’t hear him through her sobs.

She bumps her face into his chest. She’s crying badly. He caresses Raquel’s back soothingly, trying not to think of what is going on inside the Royal Mint right now. Who’s comforting Rio? Poor kid, his crying and yelling still echo in Sergio’s head. Who’s comforting Helsinki? This is so ridiculous, surviving a war and loosing someone to a metal pole at the hands of kids.

It’s all happened because Sergio was distracted.

He is still distracted, he admits, looking down and stopping halfway, when he realizes he’s about to smell her hair. He holds his breath, forcing this thought to sink in. He processes it, analyses every wrong turn he’s taken while Raquel slowly calms down in his arms. And then he knows he shouldn’t have let it come to this, no matter how much he enjoys _this_.

Carefully, he takes a step back, studies Raquel’s reddened wet face. She wipes her eyes, sniffs and looks up at him, biting her cheek.

“I’ll… I’ll step outside to let you change,” he mumbles uncomfortably under her gaze, turning on his heels.

“Salva… Salva!” she calls persistently, making him stop. “You’ve seen me naked. It’s alright,” Raquel adds in a tone one would use with a small child, and Sergio knows he blushes without even trying to. He turns to face her again.

She’s not flirting with him, though, is she? He studies her face to see if she’s mocking him, but Raquel turns to a side and goes on changing her clothes. He doesn’t look away.

“They’ve injected me with something,” she says, while putting on her bra and then buttoning the blouse. “Would you mind if I just slept it off at your place? Just for a few hours.”

The ease with which these words come out of her mouth almost make Sergio say yes without registering what it is she’s saying. Then it sinks in, and Sergio’s eyebrows fly up in shock. He’s immediately scared of his own reaction.

“I…” he trails off. He can’t be away from hangar that much longer, his team needs him. “I’m sorry Raquel. You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he points at his face, meaning her injuries, “And I’ve already made arrangements that I cannot ignore. I need to go out of town today.”

Even if he didn’t need to be inside the hangar, he’d still prefer to stay away from her right now. She might be in pain and shock, processing a loss of a dear person, but so is he. He’s volnurable. This isn’t doing him any good, this isn’t making things any easier for him, because the more time they spend together, the more he grows to like her. And he shouldn’t: two of his team mates are gone exactly because of it.

(He also shouldn’t piss her off, though).

She freezes with her pants in hand, looks at him attentively with her puffy eyes. This is not good.

“Who’s going to take charge of the negotiations, Inspectora?” he jokes, hoping to change the subject and avoid a straight answer. She should be able to take the hint, shouldn’t she? “I’m sorry,” he says quietly and tilts his head: reminding her of work was a bad idea. As soon as she’s back in the tent, her partner’s death will come back to bite her.

“They have enough manpower,” she sighs, “and the Professor, the guy in charge on the other side… He hasn’t called in awhile and they… Look, Salva, if it’s unfitting, I’ll accept it. But I promise I’ll stay quiet, I won’t disrupt whatever you need to be doing in there. Or… not there.”

“How about I take you home where your mother can keep you company, and then I stop by in the evening when I come back to Madrid?”

“No,” she shoots immediately with a blank face, her body tense. She’s angry. And she’s hurt. Not at all the result he was aiming for. “I need to work. I need to be in the tent…” she sniffs. “Have you seen the news yet? There was a massive shooting inside the Royal Mint this night. We think some of hostages tried to escape and…” she stops talking when a nurse passes by. Sergio feels like he’s standing on his tiptoes, waiting for Raquel to go on. “I can’t go home, not now. It’s too far. There was a shooting inside the Mint, and…” she repeats herself, visibly lost in thoughts, and then her face changes, sadness suddenly replaced with realization. “Wait, what did you say?” Raquel asks, frowning.

“What? When? I will stop by in the evening?”

“No, before that… You said you needed to be out of town… Of course! How did I not think of it. The robbers inside the Royal Mint, they have heavy artillery, they’re either military pros or they’ve spent a lot of time practicing using all those firearms,” she rumbles, her voice becoming louder with every word, and at some point Sergio has to remind her they are still in the hospital (and she’s still only wearing one leg of her pants). Raquel takes a deep breath, then continues in a much calmer manner, “They had to stay _out of town_. Salva, thank you!” she smiles and reaches for her phone, looking at him expectantly.

(Why is she looking at him like that and what kind of reaction was she hoping to see?)

He nods with confusion all over his face, then laughs when Raquel realizes her phone is dead and asks to use his to make a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How often should I post this? I see that everyday is too much. Would once a week be more comfortable for you, guys?


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